The Headmaster Thing
by Violet-Amy
Summary: It didn't exactly surprise Blaine when Puck first suggested the headmaster thing. He's always known that Puck gets off on the whole prep school thing, starting with the uniform. But what is surprising is that Blaine is into it too. From a GKM prompt.


**A/N: This is a fill for a GKM prompt that was for either Blaine/Sam or Blaine/Puck. Creamyfilling wrote a Blaine/Sam fill (at my request, as part of a fic exchange we did) which is absolutely incredible, and one of my all-time favorite fics. It's called "Man in Uniform" and you should definitely go read it if you haven't yet. I just couldn't get the idea of a Blaine/Puck fill out of my head. (If I thought asking Creamyfilling to fill the same prompt twice wouldn't be totally out of line I probably would have tried that.)**

It's not that Blaine doesn't love Kurt.

It's just that sometimes he needs more than Kurt can give him. Tonight is one of those times—and tonight he actually has the chance to do something about it.

The sight of Kurt sleeping so peacefully in his twin bed in their shared dorm room, so beautifully and innocently…is it bad that the sight of his sweet boyfriend makes him desperate for another man?

Yes. It's very bad, and Blaine is a terrible boyfriend. Probably a terrible person in general.

Of course, this realization makes him crave what he's after even more.

Thank god Kurt is a heavy sleeper. Blaine puts on his Dalton uniform and removes the screen from the window, silently cursing the school administration for trusting the students so little that they keep the outside doors of the dorms alarmed overnight. He's dropped out of this window often enough that he never lands on the bush below, but he does stumble this time and get mud on one knee of his uniform pants. He'll no doubt get in trouble for that—a realization that makes him smile.

Dalton students aren't allowed to have cars, but a lot of them "secretly" keep one off campus. Blaine's is parked three blocks away; as soon as he's off school property he runs all the way there. He doesn't have much time to lose if he's going to drive all the way to Lima, do what he needs to do, drive all the way back to Westerville, and be back in his own bed before Kurt wakes up at six.

Puck isn't really surprised to hear his doorbell going off insistently just before two in the morning. He did just "happen" to mention, after all, that his mom was working the graveyard shift and his sister was away on a school field trip. Still, he was asleep, and he's always grumpy when he gets pulled out of a good sleep.

And this "thing" they like to do works better when he's a little grumpy anyway, so he goes with it.

He pads across the living room in his boxers and t-shirt, none too quickly. The longer he makes the guy wait, the more desperate he'll be, and Puck loves it when he's desperate. (As he always is when they do this. If he weren't desperate, he wouldn't be here.)

Eventually he makes it to the front door. He puts the scowl on his face before he opens the door, because he knows that once he sees Blaine in that preppy uniform...

He's not sure what it is about the uniform that does it for him, but, god, does it. Maybe because the first time he saw Blaine in it, he actually saw Blaine in only half of it.

He hadn't even wanted to drive out to Dalton with Finn. Finn was all worried about how Kurt was settling in at his new school, but he didn't want to go check on him alone. He said it was because it would be too boring driving that far with no one to talk to, but Puck actually thought it was because he was afraid being around so many rich snobs would be intimidating.

Kurt yelled for them to come in when they knocked, and they did, only to see Kurt's roommate changing his clothes. He still had the navy Dalton blazer on, but he was bending over, pushing his uniform pants down, and he had this ass that was pointed straight at the door, this ass that was round and firm and covered in navy briefs with DALTON spelled out across it in giant red letters. And then he turned and smiled and walked across the room, pantsless, to shake their hands and introduce himself while simultaneously loosening his striped uniform tie.

Kurt was aghast when he emerged from the bathroom and realized what had happened, but Blaine was totally casual about it. Finn, also, acted like nothing had happened, but Puck knew him well enough to know it was just that: acting.

Puck was just speechless. Like, he couldn't even make small talk with Kurt, all he could do was make himself not stare while Blaine put on jeans and changed into a casual shirt. (Well, not what Puck would consider casual, but not the uniform anyway.)

A little while into their visit, while Kurt was talking to Blaine and looking at him all moony-eyed, Finn pulled Puck aside and whispered to him, "Do you think that guy is fucking my brother?"

Under normal circumstances Puck would have told Finn that he should chill the fuck out, that Kurt was old enough to decide if he wanted to fuck his roommate. But these didn't feel like normal circumstances. He eyed Blaine carefully before responding, "Get Kurt out of here. Leave me alone with this guy for a while and I'll find out."

Finn managed it somehow—Puck was too busy trying not to get caught checking out Blaine to notice how he did it—and he was alone in the tiny dorm room with this preppy dude whose ass he could not keep his mind or his eyes off of.

"Kurt's brother doesn't seem to like me," Blaine observed once they were alone.

"He's worried that you're fucking him," Puck said. "Though I'm thinking you're more the type of guy who likes to _get_ fucked."

It was just a lucky guess, honestly. Puck had never had sex with a guy before, had never even put too much thought into the idea of doing so, and he didn't know the first thing about how to tell a gay guy's preferences for topping versus bottoming. He just knew that he wanted to fuck Blaine, and he was hoping Blaine wanted the same thing. It was a gamble that paid off, as Blaine blushed very prettily and didn't contradict him.

Puck went to the closet and pulled out the blazer Blaine had just changed out of. "Put it back on," he said, holding the garment out.

Blaine seemed surprised by the request, but he did it, put the jacket on over the polo shirt he'd changed into. Without being asked, he stepped out of his jeans.

Puck took him up against the door. It was way too rushed—Finn and Kurt were going to be back soon, and anyway Puck felt this incredibly urgency—and probably actually hurt Blaine more than a little, since Puck didn't really prep him that much. Puck was sorry as soon as he realized—not that Blaine complained at the time (or later).

At the time...well, at the time, all Puck cared about was that Blaine was so tight and felt so amazing, and he made the hottest little whimpers every time Puck thrust up into him. And they weren't pain whimpers, or not _just_ pain whimpers: Blaine came too, before Puck did even, super hard, screaming until Puck gave him his forearm to bite down on, spraying his jizz all over himself and the door.

They barely had time to get their pants back on—or, well, just _up_ in the case of Puck, who had left his around his ankles the whole time—before Kurt and Finn were back. Puck did find the time to ask, however, "So, _are_ you fucking Kurt?"

He wasn't.

Of course, that was then. They weren't even going out at the time. Puck wasn't exactly thrilled when he found out they had started going out, but what could he say? He was always the one to insist that, however much they enjoyed fucking, they weren't boyfriends.

He doesn't actually insist on this anymore. But, by now it's just understood. And besides, Blaine and Kurt _are_ boyfriends. And Kurt is his best friend's little brother. So.

So Blaine and Puck still have this...this _thing_ , as he thinks of it, for lack of a better term. They both really like it, and Kurt probably wouldn't, so it's not like they're hurting him. And he'll never find out anyway.

Puck throws open the front door and scowls down at his dapper schoolboy lover. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Blaine looks down bashfully at his loafers. "It's way past curfew. I'm sorry, headmaster."

The whole headmaster thing is...

It didn't exactly surprise Blaine when Puck first suggested it. He's always known that Puck gets off on the whole prep school thing, starting with the uniform.

Of course, some of Puck's ideas about Blaine's school are just flat-out wrong. Dalton doesn't have a "headmaster," for example; it has a director, and not one Blaine has the remotest interest in sexually.

But what is surprising about the headmaster thing is that...well, Blaine is into it too. It's so far removed from actual Dalton life that it's fantasy for him as much as it is for Puck.

"Get in here, Anderson!"

Blaine steps into the living room, hands folded in front of him, staring down at the carpet. He hears Puck slam the front door shut and then walk up behind him.

"It's the middle of the night, young man. I was sleeping. Do you think I've got nothing better to do in the middle of the night than discipline wayward students?" _Wayward_. Puck likes that one. He's actually spent some time with a thesaurus, looking up synonyms for _naughty_.

"I'm sorry, sir." Blaine realizes Puck hasn't noticed the mud stain on his pants yet. He bends his knee, hoping to call attention to it.

It works. "Your uniform is filthy, Anderson." He circles Blaine, then stands directly behind him and says the next part low, right into his ear. "Just like you. You're a filthy boy. Aren't you, Anderson?"

The words do something to Blaine: he nearly shivers. He squeezes his eyes shut and answers, "Yes, sir," and this time he does shiver. He _is_ a filthy boy. Puck gets that about him.

"And what do you think I should do with you? You filthy boy?"

Blaine gulps and looks the "headmaster" in the eye. "I think you need to punish me, sir."

Puck holds Blaine's chin in place and says, "For once, you're absolutely right." He lets go of his chin and looks down contemptuously at the stained pants. "Those soiled trousers are a disgrace. Remove them at once."

Blaine hastens to comply. He's wearing the DALTON novelty briefs, the ones Puck loves so much and thinks are part of the actual school uniform.

Or maybe that's part of the game for Puck too. All Blaine is sure of is that when he wears regular underwear, Puck punishes him for being out of uniform. Which, of course, is lovely.

He stands perfectly still while Puck steps back to admire the view from the rear.

It's not long before Puck is doing more than looking. Soon Blaine feels his hands inside his underwear, squeezing his ass cheeks. Then a finger tracing his rim, but not penetrating him.

"Do we have to go to your office, headmaster?" Blaine asks. Puck's "office" is his bedroom.

"Once again you're right," Puck says, pulling his hands back. But then he gives Blaine a hard smack over the briefs and adds, "Don't let it make you cocky."

They walk silently up the stairs together. Well, not together exactly. Puck makes Blaine go first.

That kid's ass, Jesus.

Puck knows the stuff he does with Blaine is technically gay, but somehow it doesn't feel _really_ gay. He doesn't suck Blaine's dick, for example. He doesn't rim him.

But walking up the stairs behind him, seeing that gorgeous ass right in front of his face...he kind of really _wants_ to rim him. It's such a great ass. It would probably feel amazing to have his lips on it—to have his tongue inside it, even. Each time this thought occurs to him, the gayness of it bothers him a little less. Next time they get together he might even do it.

And the time after that he might even suck Blaine's dick.

As soon as they reach the bedroom, Blaine stands with his legs apart, hands clasped behind his back, head down. Puck circles him slowly, inspecting. He likes what he sees, very much. Of course, he'll like what he sees even more in a minute or two. "Clothes off," he orders.

Blaine quickly obeys. He removes the jacket first and places it over the back of the chair. Then his tie, which he places in Puck's outstretched hand. He lines his shoes up under the chair and stuffs his socks inside them. Finally he takes off his white dress shirt, white cotton undershirt, and Dalton briefs, folding them neatly and stacking them on the edge of Puck's unmade bed. Without once looking Puck in the eye, he resumes his earlier position.

He's not looking at Puck at all, not directly anyway, but Puck is definitely looking at him. Blaine can feel Puck's eyes on him, can sense how he's being appraised. He knows that Puck is taking careful note of his reddening cheeks, his hardening dick. It makes him want to hide, or to throw himself at Puck. He has to fight with himself to keep from doing either.

Finally, after circling him silently several times, _finally_ Puck asks, "Why are you here, Anderson?"

"I'm in trouble."

A sharp smack to his ass takes him by surprise; he almost unclasps his hands to rub the stricken spot.

"Do I tolerate smart-ass responses?"

"No, sir," Blaine squeaks.

"Tell me _why_ you're in trouble."

"For sneaking out after curfew. For the stain on my paints. For being a dirty boy."

"Mmm." Puck strokes Blaine's ass cheek thoughtfully. "The curfew violation is a repeat offense, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Puck pulls open his bottom desk drawer. "Twenty with my hand for the pants and ten with Dolly for sneaking out." He pulls out "Dolly," a paddle Blaine told him he stole from his real headmaster's office, but which he actually ordered online.

"And for being a dirty boy?"

"You know what you get for that," Puck snaps. "And you know how I want you." He looks meaningfully at the desk. Seeing it's cluttered, he hurriedly pushes all the junk onto the floor.

Blaine puts his blazer back on but doesn't button it. It's scratchy against his bare skin, which he found unpleasant when they started doing this, but now it's actually a huge turn-on. He positions himself behind the desk and takes a deep breath before bending forward and grabbing the far end. He rests his head and chest on the surface and waits.

The waiting is always the worst. Not because he doesn't know how much it'll hurt, but because he does.

Puck's favorite part of Blaine is his ass. Obviously. But he's also strangely fond of his knuckles. Specifically, how they turn white from how hard he grips the edge of the desk—even before Puck has laid a hand on him. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Blaine hated this.

He does know better. He knows Blaine fucking loves this, or he wouldn't keep coming back for it. And yet, somehow…

He's not sure why, exactly, but he finds himself placing his hand gently on the small of Blaine's back, under the blazer, and addressing him reassuringly. "This is for your own good, you know. You need this."

Blaine gulps. "Yes, sir."

"Just take your punishment. You'll feel better after."

It makes Blaine want to cry, almost. He's always known that Puck gets him in ways that no one else does, but this is…He didn't realize Puck gets him _this_ much. He swallows hard and say, "Yes, sir. Thank you."

Puck, although Blaine just thanked him, is afraid he may have just committed a serious breach of the terms of their arrangement. He quickly snaps back into heartless headmaster mode. "Count out loud," he orders.

The first smack always comes as a surprise, somehow. Like, Blaine can't believe it's happening, he can't believe they're doing this.

Which isn't to say it feels unfamiliar.

He knows he's supposed to count, for example—he'd know it even if Puck hadn't just said so—and he dutifully recites, "One." It stings, the first one, but it doesn't exactly hurt yet. It doesn't really start to hurt until around four or five.

Puck can tell when his boy (is it weird that he thinks of him as "his boy" when he's spanking him?) starts to feel it. It's the knuckles again. Blaine actually relaxes his grip as soon as a spanking starts, like he's relieved or something that it's not as bad as he feared. But then as soon as it does hurt, it's back to the death grip.

The damn jacket is sort of a nuisance. Blaine looks unbelievably hot in it, and it's like half of what drives Puck so crazy, but it gets in the way. Puck flips it up onto Blaine's head, exposing half his boy's back and all of his ass. This is so much better: Seeing Blaine's back muscles tense as he flinches with each increasingly heavy swat. Seeing his ass cheeks turn from creamy white to blush to hot pink.

Blaine's ass is so hot. By the time they reach the teens he wonders if it's actually burning Puck's hand every time it makes contact.

It gets harder and harder to hold still. Harder not to squirm. Harder to keep his hands from reaching down and covering his ass.

The counting gets harder too. Not just saying the numbers out loud, though that's a struggle in itself—getting the words out through clenched teeth, taking in the air necessary for speech when his instinct is to hold his breath. But even just concentrating, even just holding onto the little bit of presence of mind to not lose count. It gets harder as the spanking goes on.

And yet. The counting is important, he clings to it. When he starts to feel like he can't go on, he knows: he's taken fifteen already, only five more…He's taken sixteen already, only four more…

Of course, that's ignoring the ten with Dolly that will come after. Dolly is much less forgiving than the headmaster's hand. Blaine can't think about Dolly yet.

Blaine is whimpering now. The sound of it goes straight to Puck's cock. He knows he only has to push a little harder. He pulls his hand back and lands his most forceful blow yet, in the exact same spot the last four blows hit. "Eighteen!" Blaine spits out. "Please, headmaster!"

 _Please_ , of course, is not Blaine's safe word. Blaine's safe word is _popcorn_. He's used it a couple times when he needed to, so Puck has no qualms about ignoring any and all non- _popcorn_ pleas.

He delivers the final two hand swats rapidly on the other cheek, barely giving Blaine time to count them. "Please what?" he taunts.

"Please," Blaine whines, rubbing his stinging ass. "Please, sir, it's enough."

"It's enough when we're finished, and not before." He grabs Blaine's hands and adds, "And I did not give you permission to move these off the edge of the desk."

"I'm sorry, sir! It was an accident, it won't happen again."

"No. I'll make sure of that," Puck says, tying Blaine's wrists behind his back with his own preppy necktie. He's pretty sure Blaine does it intentionally—makes Puck restrain him. He's pretty sure Blaine loves it.

Blaine does love it, but at the same time, part of him finds it genuinely terrifying to be tied up. He never provokes Puck to do it on purpose. Well, never _wholly_ on purpose. "Please, headmaster," he whispers, sincerely regretting letting go of the desk when he knew what would happen. "Please, I won't do it again."

"Damn right you won't. You won't have the chance." He picks up Dolly. "Do we need to review why you're here, Anderson?" It sounds like a rhetorical question, but it isn't—sometimes Blaine wants to be lectured during the paddling, and sometimes he doesn't. If he says _No, sir_ , then Puck doesn't lecture.

But he doesn't say _No, sir_ , not tonight. He says, "I violated curfew, sir."

"You did violate curfew. That was very insolent of you." Puck holds the paddle against Blaine's ass, just barely touching his hot, sensitive skin. "Is insolentness tolerated at Dalton?"

"No, sir!" In any other context he would find the use of _insolentness_ for _insolence_ jarring, but in this context it barely even registers. It barely registers because Dolly has just landed for the first time, setting fire to his already simmering skin. "One."

Puck pulls the paddle back into position for the next smack. "But then, the curfew violation isn't really why you're here. Is it, Anderson?"

"Sir?" But Blaine doesn't have time to figure out what Puck is getting at—all too soon Dolly is landing hard and unforgiving on his ass again. He bites back the string of curse words— _strictly_ forbidden him by the headmaster—and confines his commentary to: "Two."

"You broke the rules on purpose because you wanted to get sent here."

"No, sir, I—" Puck doesn't let him finish his denial before bringing Dolly down again. Blaine flinches hard this time—his whole body jerks—and his arms struggle to free themselves of the necktie. Blaine's breath hitches a little before he manages: "Three."

"You're a dirty, filthy boy, Anderson." He sets Dolly down for a minute and scratches his fingernails ever so lightly across his boy's ass, making him hiss and squirm. "You get off on this, don't you?"

"Sir, please," Blaine pleads. His nerves are totally on edge, and he's not entirely thinking of what they're doing as a game at the moment. He feels like he should at least have enough dignity to deny the truth of what the headmaster is saying about him. But it's so tempting to just admit it, just wallow in his humiliation.

"Admit it." Puck squeezes each ass cheek in turn, slowly, but hard enough that Blaine's eyes water. Then he pats each one—no more than a couple taps, really, but on Blaine's already stinging skin they feel like a lot more—before picking up Dolly again. "Admit that being punished like the naughty boy you are gets you all hot and bothered."

Blaine squirms uncomfortably. He can't respond beyond a small gasp.

"Not going to admit it? Do I have to check for myself?" Puck presses his palms against Blaine's ass and holds them there. It's _so_ hot. "Should I just reach down between your legs and see how hard you are?"

Oh, god, _what_!? Is…is Puck actually suggesting that he touch Blaine's dick? Puck _never_ touches his dick. Even though he's half-afraid it's a trap of some sort, it's not a chance he's going to pass up, and he quickly answers, "Yes, sir!"

"Yes?" 

Blaine's not sure what Puck wants from him. "Yes, sir, I think you should check. See for yourself how hard I am, how much I love…I admit everything! I'm a filthy slut and I broke curfew on purpose just because I get off so much on you punishing me." He waits—what seems like a long time but is actually only about a second.

When Puck doesn't respond, he panics. Maybe he said the exact wrong thing! He tries again: "I mean, I deny it! You can't prove it!"

Puck smiles to himself. _Someone_ certainly is desperate for his headmaster to touch his cock. "Beg me."

Blaine's cock is positively throbbing now. He's always turned on when they do this, but he usually manages not to actively think about his dick at this stage. Usually he's much too preoccupied with his ass, but even more importantly, there's never been even a hint that before that his dick _might_ get any attention. But he still doesn't know what Puck wants, which makes him almost want to cry. "Beg you…to check, or not to check? Please, I'll do whichever you want if it'll end with you touching me there, please!"

Puck hadn't really thought it through, but he does now. Which would be hotter? "Beg me to touch it," he decides. "Tell me what a slut you are for me."

"Oh my god, _such_ a slut. You have no idea, sir. You have no idea the wicked things I imagine you doing to me when I lie awake at night. I get so hard when you spank me, sir. _So hard_. When my I touch myself I think how I would do anything— _anything_ —for it to be your hand on me instead, and I _would_ do anything, I want you to touch it _so bad_. Please, sir. _Please!_ "

Wow. Blaine's always really good at getting into his role—better than Puck is—but Puck has never heard him manage to sound so sincere. It's because he _is_ sincere, Puck realizes. Aside from calling him sir instead of Puck, none of that was the game.

"You're even dirtier than I realized." He picks Dolly up again. "I guess you need your punishment even more than I realized."

Blaine whines. "Yes, sir. But…what about…"

"What about what?" Puck asks testily. "Spit it out, Anderson."

"What about you touching it? You said if I begged…"

"I told you to beg. I didn't promise anything in return."

Blaine thinks he's going to cry. He tries so hard to stifle his sobs—he _hates_ to cry unless it's from a spanking—and he mostly manages, but he's not sure how long he can keep holding them back. Puck's right, he didn't promise anything, and Blaine has completely humiliated himself—and, worse, gotten his hopes up—for nothing. "Please," he begs, voice quivering. " _Please_."

God. Puck doesn't think he's ever seen his boy _this_ desperate. It's so fucking hot, Blaine's pathetic begging has him so fucking hard right now. It's got him dying to feel how hard it's got Blaine himself—Puck _wants_ to touch his dick, almost as much as Blaine wants him to. But he's not going to. Not yet. Without warning he pulls Dolly back and whacks Blaine hard—harder than he has all night so far—right in the middle of his pretty little ass.

Blaine yelps. "Please, headmaster."

"What number was that, Anderson? If you can't remember we'll call it one."

"It was…" Blaine wracks his brain trying to remember. "It was four, sir. But please—"

Puck whacks him again, same spot.

Blaine flinches hard. "Five," he says weakly. "Sir…"

"Yes, Anderson?" Puck asks impatiently. "You gonna beg me again to touch your dick?"

"I…" Blaine takes a deep breath, hoping to be able to control the shaking of his voice. "I want you to _so_ bad, sir. And I know I don't deserve it, because of what a filthy, slutty boy I am, but—"

"And desperate and pathetic," Puck adds, just before he brings the paddle down on his ass again.

"Yes, sir," Blaine gasps. "Six." He's suddenly aware of a pain in his shoulders. He didn't realize it, but he must have been struggling to free his arms to rub his ass.

"Your desperateness and patheticness don't displease me. Actually, I'm incredibly turned on by how much you're willing to humiliate yourself just for a chance at me touching your dick."

"Thank you, sir!"

"We're going to do these last four, and then you're going to tell me about the so-called wicked things you imagine me doing to you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Only…"

Puck waits. "Only what, Anderson?" he asks impatiently.

"No, only that I wasn't trying to imply that I think _you're_ wicked. I'm the wicked one, obviously. The things I imagine you doing to me, they're only what I deserve."

"I'm glad you understand that. No more talking until we're done, except for counting. Got it?"

Blaine starts to say _yes, sir_ but stops himself in time and nods instead.

The last four land one right after another; the only break Blaine gets is the length of time it takes Puck to pull Dolly back far enough for a good swing. He has trouble getting enough breath to count out loud—it doesn't help that he's starts crying right after eight.

 _Nine_ and _ten_ , they don't really sound like anything—Blaine barely manages to say them at all around his sobs.

It doesn't matter, obviously. Blaine is sobbing, that's the important thing.

Puck felt bad the first time he made Blaine cry. Bad about doing it at all, but even worse about how hot he found it. He told Blaine he was sorry afterward, he promised never to get that carried away again. But Blaine…Blaine said he didn't mind.

Liked it, even.

It was scary, he said—and the spanking had hurt a _lot_ , obviously—but once it was over he felt really…good. He said the crying made it more cathartic. Puck had to look up _cathartic_ later, and even then he wasn't really sure what Blaine meant. But he was sure that he did mean it, so now Puck usually tries to make his boy cry. And when he tries he almost always succeeds.

Of course, even though he makes him cry on purpose—even though seeing his boy bent over his desk, hands tied behind his back, ass a bright cherry red, body wracked with sobs…even though that sight makes him harder than anything, he's not heartless about it. He rubs Blaine's back, up under the jacket. "You did it," he tells him soothingly. "You took all ten from Dolly, and now we're done."

Blaine doesn't try to answer until he's almost done crying. When he can, he steadies his breath and says, "Thank you, sir."

"You need your hands untied?" Puck asks. He's noticed that Blaine is still squirming his arms around—when he does that even when Puck's not doing anything to him, it usually means his shoulders hurt.

"Please, sir."

Puck unties them and briefly massages each arm from the shoulder to the wrist. It feels so good. Blaine loves when Puck is rough with him, even when he hurts him pretty badly, but when he touches him in a nice, caring way? Like when he was rubbing his back a minute ago, and now the arms? It kind of makes Blaine feel like he's melting.

The moment is fleeting, of course. Soon Puck is positioning his hands on the edge of the desk and telling him, "We're not done here, you know. I'm being generous by untying you, but don't think I'll hesitate to tie you right back up if I need to."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Puck rubs his back again, up under the jacket, starting at the shoulders. But it's not exactly soothing this time—or it won't be for long, Blaine knows—because his hands are moving down, straight towards Blaine's burning, tender ass. His body tenses, knowing what's coming. And it's not a surprise when it does, but he hisses as Puck's calloused fingers first brush across the raw skin.

Ignoring the hiss, ignoring the squirming, Puck orders him, "Now tell me what it is you imagine me doing to you. The wicked things that are no more than you deserve."

"Well, um." Blaine gulps.

"I asked you a question, Anderson." Puck squeezes his ass.

"Well, some of it is stuff you actually do. Like…like spanking me. Fucking me. I think about that all the time. But there's other stuff too."

"Getting spanked and fucked by your headmaster isn't slutty enough for you?"

"It is! I mean, I love it more than anything, sir! But sometimes I think about…like, what if you spanked me…like, tied up my hands and paddled me and made me cry and then fucked me…what if you did it all in front of someone else?"

"Oh, fuck," Puck whispers. Not a very headmaster-like response, he guesses, but, _Jesus_ , that would be hot. "In front of who? Kurt?"

"No!" Blaine says, maybe too quickly, but it's not his boyfriend who he pictures watching them. He tries to keep Kurt in a whole separate mental category. Not that he's always able to, but…but Kurt is good and pure, whereas what he does with Puck is like the exact opposite of that, and…and, no, he doesn't want—even in his sick fantasies—for Kurt to know about any of this. "No, not Kurt, but…like maybe his brother?"

Kurt's brother already seems to know that Blaine is no good, already doesn't trust him. But if he only knew the true extent of Blaine's depravity, if he could witness it with his own eyes…

"Fuck," Puck says again. There's no way he'd ever consider bringing Finn in on this, but knowing Blaine would get off on it if they did…

He intended to make Blaine tell him _all_ his dirty little fantasies, but that one alone is…it's almost too much, it's almost more than Puck can take. He needs to fuck his boy. Just look at his ass!

And his dick. Puck can't stop thinking about Blaine's dick. How hard has all this made him? The fake punishment with real paddling that made him cry real tears? Confessing that he fantasizes about doing all of it in front of his boyfriend's brother—who, by the way, is probably the straightest guy Blaine even knows. Puck's pretty sure all those prep school guys are _at least_ half gay. Finn is public school all the way; he's like the ultimate anti-prep.

"Spread your legs," Puck orders him, pushing them apart. He runs his hands over both cheeks again, drawing another hiss from Blaine. "You know Finn is straight, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"So what makes you think he'd be interested in seeing your pretty little ass get punished?"

Blaine doesn't think Finn would _actually_ be interested; in fact, he'd probably be sickened, but—

"Did you shower before you came over here, Anderson?"

What? That's like the last question Blaine was expecting. But he did; he always does. "Yes, sir."

"You are going to be in so much fucking trouble if you're lying to me."

And then it happens so fast—Puck's mouth is on his ass!

It's basically making Blaine's brain short-circuit, because Puck has _never_ put his mouth on Blaine's ass, not even when he's being Puck, much less when he's being the headmaster. His brain can't really process why this is happening, so it focuses on the physical sensations: the softness of his lips, the wetness of his tongue—it hurts, as any touch there does right now, but at the same time it's sort of soothing.

And, of course, deeply arousing. As if Blaine weren't aroused enough already.

Puck kind of can't believe he's doing this. Yeah, he's thought about doing it for a long time now, but he didn't think he was ready. But apparently he is, and Blaine's ass feels as amazing on his lips and tongue as he imagined it would. Soft and tender and so fucking _hot_. The way his boy is whimpering, Jesus H. Christ. And the way his hips are moving like he's trying to hump something…There's nothing there for him to hump—his dick isn't resting on the desk or anything—but it's like his hips don't realize that. Or can't help it even if they do. Anyway, as hot as it is, it's going to make what Puck wants to do next more difficult, so he grabs them and says, "Hold still, baby."

Blaine tries to still his hips, which he didn't notice were moving. "Sorry, s-…" But before he gets the word _sir_ out, he realizes…Did Puck just call him _baby_?

But he can't dwell on that because now Puck is roughly palming his ass cheeks. He's pulling them apart, which can only mean one thing: Puck is ready to fuck him. He's going to finger him open just enough and cover him with just enough lube and then fuck the living daylights out of him.

Blaine thinks he might cry again. Not because he doesn't love the headmaster fucking the living daylights out of him; he totally does. It's just that he really thought Puck was going to touch his dick. He even thought…

It was crazy and stupid, but he thought maybe he'd get to come. He _never_ gets to come when the headmaster fucks him, why would he think it would be different now? Well, because other stuff has been different, but…but naughty little boys being punished don't get to come, and Blaine probably _would_ come if the headmaster touched him there, so...

But Puck doesn't shove a finger up his ass like he's expecting; Puck shoves his _tongue_ up his ass. Puck is licking and tonguing his hole, and it's the most amazing thing Blaine has ever felt, even if he can't comprehend why it's happening. Puck's fingers are digging painfully into his cheeks, but that pain just intensifies the sensations his tongue is causing.

Puck can't believe he waited so long to do this; his boy's ass is even sweeter up close like this than it is at arm's length. He doesn't even taste bad at all, he tastes like sex and need.

 _Need_. Blaine is whining, all high-pitched and needier than ever. Humping the air harder than ever. Puck reaches around, to finally see just how hard his boy is. To finally give the poor, desperate guy something to hump.

Oh god, oh Jesus, he's doing it, he's touching Blaine's dick, and it's all Blaine has ever wanted. And it's so good, it's too much, he's going to come.

 _Popcorn_. It's on the tip of his tongue; he should say _popcorn_. If he doesn't safe word really soon he's going to come all over the headmaster's hand, and then who knows what kind of trouble he'll be in.

But, _god_ , it feels good. He needs to come really bad, and he just can't bring himself to put a stop to this.

Whatever the headmaster does to him after will be totally worth it, he decides, as he surrenders to his body's will. He lets himself hump the headmaster's hand, with no pretense of restraint, and when the headmaster's hand forms a fist, he flat-out fucks it, the tongue up inside his ass only spurring him on, only making him crazier and more desperate for release.

His orgasm hits him suddenly, and between the intensity of the sensations on his spanked-raw ass, the humiliation of not being able to control himself, and the fear/anticipation of how the headmaster might punish him for this infraction, it's probably the hardest he's ever come. Euphoria spreads throughout his body, but it's mingled with dread. He chants, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," as his dick pulses and his spunk spills everywhere.

And he can't stop. Even after he's empty he keeps thrusting. But now he's saying, "Please, please, please."

"Please what?" Puck asks. "You wanted me to touch your dick and I did. You came. Hard. What else do you want?"

"Please, sir." Blaine finally stills his hips. "Please, I'm sorry. I know naughty boys aren't allowed to come but I couldn't he-…No, I could have helped it, I _wanted_ to come, but please, _please_ go easy on me. I just, I don't think I can take Dolly again tonight, sir, please."

Oh. Right. Puck had completely forgotten about the rule about Blaine not being allowed to come. It's another thing that was more Blaine's idea than his. Well, the first time it came up it was his idea, he just didn't think he was making it a permanent rule. It was one of the first times they did the headmaster thing—Blaine came and Puck used it as an excuse to spank him some more. You know, just because he really liked spanking him. Since then Blaine has never come after a punishment from the headmaster. Turns out he gets off on not being allowed to come. Or rather, he doesn't get off on it. Or maybe he gets himself off as soon as he's out the door; Puck's not really sure.

Anyway he's never had punish him for breaking the "rule" again. And he doesn't want to spank him any more now. The poor guy has obviously had enough, for one thing. He still has to drive all the way back to Westerville, not to mention sitting in those hard wooden prep school chairs all day.

Plus, more importantly, Puck really, really needs to fuck him. Like, now.

He wishes he could just tell Blaine to forget it, that it's no big deal. But he can't. That's not how their thing works.

Luckily he's able to think of something other than more spanking.

"You filthy little whore," he says. He opens the desk drawer, looking for the lube. "You have no control over yourself at all, do you, Anderson?"

"No, sir," Blaine admits. He gasps as two slick fingers are shoved up his ass.

"You got your filthy whore-jizz all over my hand. Is that a very respectful thing to do to your headmaster?"

"No, sir. I'm so sorry!"

"You are going to lick it up." He grabs some hair at the back of Blaine's head and pulls—just a little, just enough to signal that he wants Blaine to lift his head. "And when you're done cleaning off my hand you're going to lick your whore-jizz off my floor." He puts his jizz-covered hand in front of his boy's mouth. Meanwhile his non-jizz-covered hand is still busy lubing up his ass.

Blaine grimaces. If he were being forced to lick up Puck's come off his hand—well, he wouldn't have to be forced, he would love it. But his own? Pretty gross.

It doesn't actually taste that bad, though. He's starting to think the headmaster is letting him off _too_ easily—until the hand is clean, and Blaine finds himself being pushed onto his hands and knees on the floor.

Puck's bedroom floor is—well, it's really difficult to pretend this is the floor of the office of an elite prep school headmaster. The dingy beige carpet has clearly not been vacuumed in some time, and it's covered with what appears to be cat fur, though Blaine has never seen a cat in the house. He's not sure if having to lick up his own come, which is already soaking into the pile, is more disgusting or more degrading. But he deserves this, he reminds himself, forcing himself to extend his tongue.

The come-stained carpet tastes as bad as he expected, and some cat hairs stick to his tongue. And the headmaster is standing behind him, going, "Just look at you, Anderson."

And suddenly the headmaster isn't standing behind him anymore, he's kneeling behind him. And he's saying, "You have no idea how slutty you look like that, Anderson. You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy fucking you while you lick your own whore-jizz up off the floor." And Blaine groans.

Puck makes a mental note to find an excuse to make Blaine lick jizz up off the floor again, because this is way hotter than he expected. It's not just because of the way the Dalton blazer is sliding down toward his head, perfectly exposing that pretty little red ass that's way up in the air—though that certainly helps. Maybe it's because he's found something that Blaine finds genuinely disagreeable, but that he's doing just because Puck is "making" him. Whatever the reason, it's one of the hottest things he's ever seen.

He pushes Blaine's legs farther apart and pushes his own boxers down to his knees. He lowers a hand roughly onto each cheek, pushing them apart and making Blaine whimper.

There's that tight little hole that he loves to be inside so much. He presses the tip of his cock up to it just long enough to make Blaine squirm and try to rut against him, and then he pushes in.

His dick slides in much more easily than usual. Not that Blaine's little hole isn't as tight and perfect as always—it is!—but he's more relaxed or something. It's probably from having already come, Puck realizes. He's not sure whether this way is better or just different, but he _is_ sure that he is going to take full advantage of not having to even start out slow. He plows into his boy at full speed, loving the way his body lurches forward with the force of each thrust.

Blaine wasn't told to stop licking, so he tries valiantly to keep going. But he can't, he just keeps getting pushed back and forth along the carpet. The headmaster always fucks him hard, but this is different. This time he's just using him like a fuck toy, like an actual toy. And like an actual toy, Blaine can't do a single thing about it.

He _loves_ not being able to do a single thing about it. In the back of his head, of course, he realizes that he _could_ safe word, but he doesn't even consider it for a second. He loves getting to be this passive, this completely submissive. It hurts a great deal, Puck slamming into his abused ass over and over, but that's as incidental as the pleasure he's getting from Puck nailing his prostate over and over. He just takes it.

Blaine's not offering the slightest resistance. And his body feels almost boneless; Puck has to hold his hips in place in order to keep fucking him. But then something unusual happens.

Usually, Blaine relaxes more the longer Puck fucks him. This time it's the opposite: he gradually gets tenser. It's kind of awesome because it means he's getting tighter and tighter the closer Puck gets to coming in his ass. But it's confusing.

Suddenly he thinks he gets it, or at least he has a theory. Maybe it means Blaine is getting hard again. He reaches around to check, and Blaine lets out a high-pitched whine. It turns out his theory is correct.

"I see you're hard for me again, aren't you, Anderson?"

It's all Blaine can do to get out the words, "Yes, sir."

"You are _not_ allowed to come again, you little slut."

Blaine knows that. He wouldn't dare risk it a second time in the same night. His headmaster's hand is still on his dick and it feels so, so good, but he _won't_ let himself mess up again. He doesn't let himself thrust into the fist gripping his cock; he doesn't let his hips move on their own at all—though of course they're _being moved_ as he's being fucked.

Puck isn't going to last much longer. He starts to jerk Blaine—reminding him that he better not even think of coming—in time with his own thrusting. Just as Blaine's whining starts to take on a truly desperate quality, Puck gets that familiar feeling in his balls that signals his imminent climax. He grips Blaine's hips tighter, probably bruising his boy, and lets his dick surge and flare deep inside him.

Blaine groans as he feels the headmaster's come fill his insides. It floods deep, hidden places within him and makes him long for his own release.

But he won't give in, not again. He does have some self-control after all.

Blaine is shaking when Puck is finished. It's not the first time this has happened, but it's unusual enough that it concerns Puck. He maneuvers Blaine onto his side on the floor and wraps an arm around him, spooning him. He rubs his boy's side up under the school blazer and asks, "You all right, Blaine?"

Puck's tone is just that— _Puck's_ tone, not the headmaster's. The game is over. Blaine takes some deep breaths and answers, "Yeah. It was just really intense. I'm good, though." He nestles the back of his head against Puck's shoulder.

"I could make you come again now," Puck offers. "You don't _have_ to drive all the way back to school with a sore ass and a hard dick. I mean, I can't help you much with the sore ass, but…"

"No, it's fine. Anyway, I actually like it."

Puck likes it when Blaine comes, but he's not surprised that he doesn't want to. He doesn't get _why_ Blaine likes leaving all achy and unsatisfied, and he's never actually asked for an explanation. He's always felt like it's too personal.

"Next time we get together, can we just be Puck and Blaine?" Puck suggests. He really wants to try sucking his dick next time. If Blaine will let him.

"Yeah," Blaine agrees. The headmaster thing takes a lot out of him, especially this time. He doesn't think he'll be ready to do it again for a while.

Blaine has a harder time than usual getting up and getting dressed. He'd blame it on the fact that they're on the floor—usually Puck just fucks him over the desk—but he knows it's a lot more than that. He really just wants to go to sleep with Puck cuddling him like this—even though cuddling is _not_ what he goes to Puck for.

He has Kurt for cuddling and sweetness. Puck is, like, the opposite. The anti-Kurt. Blaine loves Kurt.

Not that he's not really, really fond of Puck too.


End file.
